A Fool for a Client (7 page)

“So give it to Judy Klein.
It
’
ll give her a change from sex crimes.”

The DA smiled a knowing smile, leaving Abrams puzzled.

“She
’
s already getting a change.
If you took the trouble to
attend a few office conferences once in a while you
’
d be more up-to-date on the personnel situation.”

“She
’
s quit? asked Abrams as if he
’
d just heard of the passing of an era.

The
ADA
was still trying to decipher the knowing look on his superior
’
s face.

“You
’
re forgetting Dan, we
’
re an equal opportunity employer... pioneers of liberalism.”
Abrams looked blank.
“Maternity leave!” the DA exploded, exasperated by Abrams
’
momentary obtuseness.

“So who
’
s taking care of the
body shop
?”

“Harvey Shine.”

Abrams slumped back in his chair, defeated.

“Besides,” the DA added, trying to sound comforting, but with a hint of gentle sarcasm in his voice.
“This is your chance to score a touchdown in the public eye.
You could end up leapfrogging me to the state A-G
’
s office.”

“Great!” said Abrams, the vitriol blending with the mock enthusiasm.
“The only problem is we
’
ve got the
Grand Canyon
where the motive should be.”

The DA brushed this aside with a deprecating gesture.

“You don
’
t need motive to get a conviction.”

“Maybe not in law, but we
’
re talking reality.
Have you ever seen a jury convict without a motive in a
circumstantial
case?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact I have, in the MacCreedy case
–
”

“That
’
s completely different,” said Abrams.
“MacCreedy was a psycho and it stood out a mile.
They knew he didn
’
t
need
a motive.
This is different.
If they
’
re going to sign their names to a piece of paper that says she did it, they
’
re going to want to know why.
Otherwise the lack of motive is going to plant itself in their minds as reasonable doubt no matter
how
strong the physical evidence.”

“What did
Interpol
come up with?”

“Nothing.
Scotland Yard has zilch.
Murphy had no criminal convictions, thank God, and he was only implicated in just this one case.
One of the people he supposedly killed was a radiologist.
The Levy girl was studying medicine.
Maybe there
’
s some connection there.”

“You don
’
t really buy that do you Dan?” asked the DA.

“No.
But I can
’
t make a better connection.
I hope I can sell it to the jury.”

“I think you
’
re misreading the situation Dan.
We
’
re talking
vigilante
killing.”

This time it was Abrams shaking his head, but he did so wearily.

“She doesn
’
t fit the profile.”

“Maybe not.
But patterns are only averages.
In any case, you
’
ve got an ace-in-the-hole on this one.”

Abrams raised his eyebrows sceptically, wondering if this was a lead-in to another of Jerry
’
s smart-ass jokes.

“What ace?” he asked cautiously, realizing that he was going to have to play Costello to the DA
’
s Abbott.

“Usually a lady defendant acts all weak and weepy-eyed, like she couldn
’
t hurt a fly.
This one
’
s playing tough.”

“So?”

The DA sat forward.
He could see that once again his former disciple wasn
’
t with him.

“Let me give you a piece of advice Dan.
Let her play it the way she wants to.
Strike that!
Let her play it like it is.
If she doesn
’
t want to play the weak little pussycat, fine!
Let her play tough, and make damn sure the jury sees it.
Then when you point the accusing finger at her and brand her a murderess, they
’
ll all buy it.”

“I still don
’
t see why I have to be the fall guy,” said Abrams.

Jerry smiled that mischievous smile of his that
alerted
Abrams to an impending wisecrack.

“That
’
s what it means to be one of the Chosen People.”

“Now how did I know
that
was coming?”

Chosen People indeed.

“How the fuck did it happen?” Declan McNutt
’
s voice rang out in its strong Northern Irish Catholic accent.
It was neither the hard accent of a Protestant “Ulsterman”, nor the brogue of a Catholic from the Republic, but something in between.

“We
’
re still trying to find out?” Padraig O
’
Shea replied nervously.
He knew that when Declan was this angry, he was perfectly capable of lashing out at anyone.
The man was a psychopath.
That was why the Irish National Liberation Army recruited him.
They had sent a man whom they thought was a pro to
America
, but for operations in
Northern Ireland
they preferred men like Declan, men who would probably be in mental hospitals if it weren
’
t for the British government making huge funding cuts to the National Health Service.

When the Irish Republican Socialist Party broke from the Official branch of Sinn Fein in 1974,
the political wing of the Irish Republican Army, to promote a more Socialist agenda,
they knew that they were taking a risk.
The IRA did not readily tolerate dissent.
Five years earlier, the IRA had faced another rift, when members of a less Marxist and more religious persuasion had split away to form the Provisional wing.
The official IRA had reluctantly accepted the
fait accompli
of the Provisionals breakaway, because they didn
’
t want internal strife to detract from the
real
war against the British.

But that didn
’
t mean that a smaller breakaway faction could count on the same leniency.

So when the dissenting radicals set up their military wing, the Irish National Liberation Army, they kept it secret even from most of their own members.
And when their activities became known, they were quite open about the fact that they recruited psychopaths.

But neither their initial attempts at anonymity nor their subsequent use of psychopaths helped them when they faced the wrath of the official IRA.
In an event remi
ni
scent of the night of the long knives, the official IRA took action against them, wiping out eleven of their leaders. In the event, INLA survived and resurfaced later.
But by then the IRA had no real need to take action of their own.
For within a short time of INLA
’
s re-emergence, the organization had itself split into two factions which were mercilessly setting out to destroy each other in an uncompromising civil war of their own.

“Well what the fuck do we know so far?” Declan snarled.

Declan was clearly still angry, and Padraig knew that there was no way to appease him.
He
’
d just have to ride out the storm and be careful not to say anything to set Declan off.
At times like this, Declan could be difficult to deal with even if one considered him a friend.
He was a big man, six foot three and two hundred and twenty pounds, a former building labourer, with solid muscles developed by hard work on building sites rather than pumping iron in a gym.
Padraig, who worked out in a gym but was of no more than average height and lean build, knew that if Declan turned violent it was not within his power to contain him, and probably not within his speed capability to make an effective escape either.

“As far we
’
ve been able to find out he was going to make the hit in
Central Park
, where the girl goes jogging every morning.
For some reason he was doing it with a rifle, even though he could
’
ve got close enough to do it with a handgun
–
”

“He doesn
’
t use handguns,” said Declan with an acidic sneer in his voice.
“He
’
s an ex-mercenary and a top marksman.
He only uses long
barrelled
weapons.
Perhaps if you read the reports they send down from head office once in a while you
’
d know what was going on.”

For a moment, Padraig considered making a wisecrack about at least being
able
to read.
But seeing the implacable look on Declan
’
s face he thought better of it.

“Well anyway, it appears that a black teenager was seen running away afterwards with the rifle case.
The gun wasn
’
t found on the body, but it turned up later when the police raided a street gang hideout in an old derelict building.
A cop was shot in the raid.
But they found the gun and caught several of the gang members.”

“Did they catch the bastard who shot Seamus?

“We don
’
t know.
None of the gang members made bail, but none of them are talking either.
They have the same code of silence we have.”

“How dare you compare those bastards
to us!”
Declan
’
s voice rang out in murderous rage, forcing Padraig to recoil in fear of imminent violence.

“I didn
’
t mean it that way.
I
’
m just saying that they haven
’
t talked, so we don
’
t know if they caught the scum-bag or not.”

He had tried to sound chummy, as if he were agreeing with Declan and sharing his hatred of the street gang culture.
In fact he understood the street-gang culture well enough, just as he understood the teenage joy riders of the six counties.
They had no hope, nothing to live for.
All they good do was mark time with acts of petty hooliganism or vandalism and try to make a bit of money peddling dope on street corners and fighting to control their territory from other gangs.
But Declan was not open to reason and was past listening by this stage.

“Seamus was a good man, a man who was ready to lay down his life for our cause.
Those nigger kids are worse than the joy-riders the IRA knee-caps.
They steal and kill for fun.
They
’
ve got no cause to fight for.
They believe in nothing.
Their fathers had a cause in the sixties, but they don
’
t want to fight for it anymore.
They
’
ve given up the struggle.
They just sit on the stoop and make excuses for being the miserable little failures that they are.
All they want to do now is snort cocaine and smoke crack.
They have no stomach for a real fight so they spend half their time killing each other and the other half killing themselves.”

“I know.
But perhaps it
’
s all for the best.
Maybe it
’
s a sign that we shouldn
’
t make any more attempts on the Levy girl.”

Declan reached out and grabbed Padraig by the throat, shoving him hard against the wall.

“All for the best?
That one our brothers in arms was killed by some monkey who dropped out of society?
All for the best that some Jewish whore who murdered one of
our
freedom fighters is still walking around, while Sean Murphy lies on in the cold ground, branded a terrorist by those who never knew him.”